


Shattered

by Elvishdork



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Descriptions of Pain, Gen, MC with She/Her Pronouns, Major Spoilers, Mild MC/Solomon if you squint, No happy ending here, This is a bad end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvishdork/pseuds/Elvishdork
Summary: Pacts are not easily broken. There is an exchange of sorts after all. A part of the demon’s essence is bound to the human, latching onto the soul.Breaking such bonds is never easy and, unfortunately, very painful for all parties involved.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR SPOILERS FOR LESSONS 37-38. 
> 
> This is my take on the worst possible outcome if they decided to break MC's pacts without the night dagger.

It is the only solution to the two options they have: break the pacts or die. The third option, to let the three realms crumble, is very much not on the table.

Between the two options, no one allows her to consider her death. So, in a way, the only real available option is to break her pacts with the seven brothers. The problem is, she refuses to use the dagger on Lucifer; refuses outright to take the oldest of the brothers away from the rest of his family.

“I can’t do that!” She had cried, sitting in her room with Solomon after retrieving the night dagger. “He told me he was afraid of dying and ending up in the Celestial realm again.” That was back when he still had his memories that is. 

Solomon has respected her wish. He spent many sleepless nights looking for a solution until he nailed down the right ritual.

It’s what led her to this moment at a chamber of Lord Diavolo’s castle and finding herself at the threshold of a room that contained a bed surrounded by candles; and a very sullen Solomon.

The brothers were behind her as she entered the room. It is Lord Diavolo who stopped them from following her and entering. “This will be complicated enough as it is. You will need to stay outside while the ritual is in progress.”

The argument that followed the prince’s statement is immediate. Six angry demons arguing for the right to be by her side as their pacts - their bonds - are broken.

It is her voice that silences them, though there is no pull on the pacts. There is no command when she speaks. “Please,” she says, voice small and barely cutting above the din of their arguments. It is only because of their demonic hearing that they catch her words at all. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

So they leave her. Barbatos offers to lead them elsewhere in the castle to wait the worst of it out. She catches sight of their retreating forms as they shuffle past in the hallway. She sees Mammon look back for one last glimpse before the door is shut. A sense of overwhelming finality washes over her as the door clicks shut.

She knows now that she will not see them again when this is over.

“I’m sorry,” Solomon starts, voice soothing as she glances at the bed. At the restraints tied to each of the four posts. “It’s going to be intense. The restraints are to stop you from hurting yourself,” he explains.

She takes a deep, steadying breath and begins to crawl onto the mattress. “It’s the pain before the peace.” She says, making peace with what they are about to do and offering a cuff to him. She knows they’re both out of options.

Gently as he is able, he helps to put them on. He tests each of them, making sure that they will not cut off her circulation or do any harm to her through the worst of what he expects to come.

“Your pacts will break in the descending order you made them in.” Solomon explains, filling the awkward silence.

“So Lucifer first,” she states, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. She might as well while she can.

“Yes,” Solomon says. He moves over to the foot of the bed and picks up a large leather bound book. The pages of which are yellowed with age and flaking in spots. He flips to a marked page and places it down on the mattress by her feet. He takes out a ceremonial dagger - not the one they had to retrieve from the reaper - and she can see the pain in his eyes before he comes back towards her hands. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, using the tip of the blade to prick each of her fingers. Dots of blood well up on her skin at the contact with the tip.

He puts the dagger away and returns to pick up the book. He takes a deep breath. “Ready?” He asks.

She nods. He looks so torn.

He holds out his hand, silvery magic beginning to gather in his palm. He looks at the book and he begins to read.

There is no preparation nor warning that ever could’ve told her how agonizing it would feel.

Solomon’s magic feels like an invisible hand at her core: on her soul itself. There is a pulling as he speaks the ritual’s words and it hurts.

However, “hurt” feels like too kind a word for how it feels. It is an indescribable, deep pain that begins to tear at the fabric of her being.

Lucifer’s mark on her skin begins to heat, becoming unbearably hot and painful. First it glows blue, as she’s used to seeing it, then it glows white; then it is smoking and turning black as white-hot pain spreads across her skin. Her pact burns out of her while the magic takes ahold of her soul.

There is a tearing, a rending of her pact to the First-born demon lord. She screams, pulling on the restraints as she feels something be ripped from her very soul.

Solomon’s words stop and the room is filled with her sobbing.

He comes back to her side, trying to sooth but knowing they will need to do this six more times. He brushes hair away from her sweat soaked brow. He lets a soothing “shhhh” pass his lips as she trembles under his touch.

He promised not to hurt her.

“You’re okay,” he tells her as he takes the dagger out again. He’s quick to reopen the dried up pricks on her fingers, pulling fresh blood to the surface of her skin.

He returns to his spot at the foot of their bed. He flips the page back to the beginning of the ritual. He holds out his hand and he hesitates.

“Six more and then you’re free.”

He breathes, he focuses, and he begins the ritual again.

She bites her lower lip, her teeth breaking skin, to prevent herself from screaming again. At least for the moment.

It is agonizing. The same grip and pull, and then tearing on her soul as Belphie’s mark burns off of her. His mark glows purple first before going through the same motions as Lucifer’s had previously.

Lord Diavolo watches from his spot by the door: a fly on the wall as he oversees the process. He remained silent through the breaking of Lucifer’s pact, but now he can see the rapidly developing side effects this is causing.

Demons can see souls in ways that humans can’t.

He watches the tether of Solomon’s magic grip and rip Belphegor’s bond away. He watches a piece of her soul go with it: a fragment, the tiniest sliver.

No matter how small, it is still her soul breaking apart.

He closes his eyes as he listens to her scream again as that piece comes free. He bites his tongue. There is no other way.

The second round of the ritual comes to an end.

* * *

Belphie whines, his fangs digging into his lips as he curls in upon himself. It hurts, dear father does it _hurt_.

It feels like falling all over. The phantom pain of burning wings and plummeting from the celestial realm. 

Like loosing Lilith all over again.

Beel has his hands on Belphie’s shoulders, trying to sooth some of the pain he is feeling echoed in their bond. 

He almost mirrors the way that Mammon is holding Lucifer. The oldest's pride tossed to the wind in a moment of weakness, huddled around Mammon’s touch and seeking any sliver of comfort he is able to get.

“The warmth is gone,” Belphie manages to moan.

Beel and Mammon look up to their other brothers. Each of them sharing a look of foreboding.

Their turns are coming soon.

It comes all too quickly for Satan. His claws dig into the arm of the chair he’s sitting in. His other hand comes to his chest as he starts to curl in on himself. He hisses in pain as the next round begins.

* * *

As Satan’s pact breaks, something else within her does too. Her screams, long since going hoarse, suddenly change pitch. A new horrible sound coming from the depths of her soul as it cries out in pain, pain, _pain_.

Solomon winces at the new sound, almost faltering in his words. He powers through, keeping his focus. He won’t make them suffer unnecessarily.

But it is a terrible suffering he is putting them through, he knows.

When it ends, he gives her a moment to sob; to shudder; to catch her breath.

He looks to Diavolo, the unspoken question on his face. In all his research he knew it would be painful to have the pacts broken this way, but nothing said it would be like this.

Diavolo is the demon prince, the current ruling power of the Devildom. He has seen to torture before. But there is no pleasure nor satisfaction in what he’s seeing now. Just a grim resignation.

“Please,” her stuttering, shaky voice catches Solomon’s attention. “I change my mind. I’d rather die.”

Solomon says her name as he strokes her hair, trying to be comforting even as his heart breaks for her. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “You’re doing so well.”

“I can’t do this,” she sobs, breaking even more. “I can’t. Just end it, please.”

“You only have four left,” he encourages. He kisses her temple, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. Trying to bring any sliver of comfort to her that he can.

She can do this.

“Don’t do this to me,” she pleads. He looks at Diavolo and watches as the prince shakes his head.

They are beyond the point of no return.

“Just four more,” Solomon reassures. It is as much for her as it is for him now.

He takes out the dagger and, as gently as he can, he pulls her weakened hand open to expose her fingertips.

* * *

Satan is panting amid the ruins of the chair. The side of his face pressed into the floor among bits of upholstery.

They’ve all felt pacts break before. That moment when their human pact-holder dies and the pact itself comes to an end.

This feels nothing like that.

It feels _wrong_. Their magic being forced loose, burned out of their human, and shoved back at them.

It hurts.

And if it hurts them, they who have the pain tolerance and threshold of demon lords, then they cannot fathom how much it must hurt her.

The realization hits as Asmo doubles over.

* * *

Asmodeus’ pact comes to an abrupt end. It is severed, and with it Diavolo can see it has fractured her soul even further.

Demons and Angels can withstand a lot. They can recover from nearly any injury too.

But humans, humans have limits. Hard set limits for pain and damage. He is all too aware that there is only so much they can bounce back from.

After the severance of four of her pacts, there is a physical toll beginning to show. Her face has sunken and her skin is losing its color, taking on an ashen quality. In each of the places the pact marks have burned off of her, the skin is raw and scorched.

It looks painful. But beyond the limits of her physical body, he can see that her soul is beginning to dull. That impossible shiny light of hers is fading.

She might not survive it, he realizes with a terrible heaviness as Solomon attempts to prepare them both for the next round.

It is a possibility. There’s still a chance, however slim, that she’ll beat the odds becoming more apparent as they progress through the breaking of her seven pacts. That there is still a chance that she will survive this ordeal and live out the rest of her normal human lifespan.

Diavolo knows that it is the smallest of chances, but a chance is still better than none at all.

So he watches as Solomon ignores her pleas for mercy and begins the ritual again.

* * *

Beel clings to his twin now: the terrible pain echoing and amplifying between them.

They cling to each other through the worst of it as Asmo hiccups in the tail end of his sobbing. The fifth-born had fallen to his knees and cried through the breaking of his pact. The pain was overwhelming as the feeling ripped through his heart through the severing of his bond. It felt the way he remembered the gates of the Celestial realm casting him out did. It felt like rejection. 

As Beelzebub breaks down with Belphie, whimpering through the pain of sudden loss and severance; Mammon and Leviathan share a look of understanding.

The third-born is next, whether he’s ready or not.

* * *

She coughs blood at the end of the fifth ritual. Her throat torn raw from her screams of agony. It’s not even the worst of her pain. Every part of her body aches, her skin feels like it is on fire, and there is a radiating pain in her chest; at the core of her being.

When Solomon rushes to her side, she can see the worry painted clear as day across his face. He consults his book as he helps her sip water from a cup.

He flips the delicate pages of the tome angrily. This shouldn’t be happening. Nothing in the ritual mentions these side effects.

A sensation of loss, of severance, sure. It warns about the pain; but nothing says it should be tearing her apart like it clearly is. His fingertips ghost over the raw skin where Lucifer’s pact burned off of her. His feather light touch has her hissing in pain, trying to shrink away from him only to be stopped by the restraints.

It shouldn’t be like this, he knows. It shouldn’t be hurting her like this.

“There are only two left,” Diavolo says, like it is supposed to be some kind of comfort.

“Her reaction is way more severe than expected,” Solomon says.

“We can’t stop,” Diavolo states. Even he sounds regretful.

Solomon frowns, taking in her appearance. The signs are there and clear as day to him. She’s weakening with each broken pact.

Yet he takes out the dagger again. How much can she really withstand? “Is she...?” He asks, looking from her to the demon prince. He can’t seem to get the word out: dying? He wants to ask. She sure looks like she is.

“Not yet,” Diavolo answers. The unspoken meaning of “yet” hangs in the air between them.

Solomon looks back to the blade in his hand. If she very well might die anyway, isn’t it better to stop the suffering now?

Or is the possibility of her survival enough to make her endure the rest?

He promised not to hurt her unnecessarily. He promised to find a solution for her too.

If she lives, she’ll have the rest of her life ahead of her. Can he risk that? Can he risk taking that away to stop a few extra minutes of pain?

“Please,” she barely whispers, her voice so raw and faint.

Though his heart breaks more on her behalf, he keeps his resolve. He denies her request for mercy once more.

When he starts the second to last ritual, the sounds of her moans and howls of pain pick up immediately.

It takes every ounce of willpower he has to maintain the necessary concentration on the ritual at hand.

* * *

Leviathan rocks himself as the ritual goes through its beginnings. He tries to sooth himself, to distract himself from the pain he can begin to feel and knows is coming. But it is a futile effort.

It hurts. There is no way around it.

As the pact snaps and breaks, the last of his resolve goes with it. He breaks too, sobbing into his knees as he hugs them tight to his chest.

The connection to his Henry is gone.

The warmth of her soul that he could feel through their pact is gone.

It is a terrible, lonely, agonizing pain.

And all Mammon can do is watch and wait for his turn as Lucifer keeps his face buried in his chest.

* * *

Her sobs are silent now. Her breathing labored. Her eyes unfocused as they stare into the room.

“One left,” Solomon assures - promises - as he prepares for the final ritual. The last time they will need to do this.

Diavolo is watching too. He’s looking at the splintered remains of her soul growing duller. He knows that the last bit of celestial grace that her soul inherited is flickering out.

What is going to be left of her? He wonders and fears.

Before the worst case scenario was the destruction of the three realms. It wasn’t fair, it didn’t make sense why she was causing such a problem. She was still so young and newly fresh into her powers.

Then they thought her early death would be the next worst thing. Looking at her - at her soul - now though, he’s realizing that there is a fate worse than death for her now.

To live without her soul.

Before he thought the risk was worth it. To live with even a damaged soul is doable. Yet the way hers is breaking apart now, he’s not sure if anything will be left if she survives this final round of the ritual.

He watches Solomon ready the dagger, watches him reopen the wounds on her fingertips for another batch of fresh blood. She lacks the strength to resist him now. She barely struggled against the restraints with the last round, having grown so weak.

Guilt nags at the demon prince as he watches. Guilt that it has come to this at all. He brought her here for his program, exposed her to the Devildom, her heritage, and awakened the powers within her.

He watches Solomon flip back the pages to the beginning of the ritual.

He resigns himself to whatever it is fate decides.

* * *

Mammmon howls in pain. His grip on Lucifer tightens and he tries to ride out the worst of the pain rippling across their pact bond.

Then it snaps with a damning finality. He is severed from his human. He is their first and their last demon. And no, they aren’t even his anymore.

It is unbearable, the kind of pain he feels ripping through him and sinking its claws into his chest is immense.

Lucifer shifts with Mammon’s grip against his chest. The oldest wraps his arms around Mammon’s shoulders in a hug. Each of them burying their faces in the crook of the other’s shoulder.

They stay like that, trying to find comfort in each other through the worst of their pain. Until another pair of arms come around them: Leviathan. Then two more: Asmodeus. Till Satan joins as well. And then finally the twins. The seven brothers sit like that, huddled together in each of their embraces. None of them are sure how long they remain that way.

None of them keep track of the time in their pain and their grief.

* * *

Solomon is shouting her name, quickly taking the restraints off.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Her eyes are glassy, the last of her tears cascading down her face; but her eyes are too still. A look he’s seen so many times throughout the many thousands of years he’s lived.

 _Lifeless_.

No, no, no; there was supposed to be hope. She was supposed to be safe.

As soon as she is free of the restraints he is pulling her up. She’s breathing, but she’s unresponsive. “I don’t understand,” Solomon says, whispering his confusion and horror at what he’s had a hand in doing to her.

“Her soul shattered,” Diavolo states mournfully.

The sorcerer rounds on him. “You never said —“

“I didn’t know until it was too late,” Diavolo states, his golden gaze meeting Solomon’s.

“How?” Solomon says, unable to form the rest of his thought.

“She’s alive, but gone.” The prince states; it is a poor explanation.

“How?” Solomon repeats, knowing that wasn’t quite the answer to the question he wanted to ask.

“Her pacts were too closely bonded to her soul. As each one broke, it took a fragment of her soul with it.”

“Why,” Solomon says, pausing to swallow past the thick lump catching in his throat. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Diavolo frowns. “I couldn’t. It needed to be done. And...” he hesitates, sorting the thought out in his head first. “I wasn’t sure this would be the outcome. There was still a chance she would make it through.”

Solomon throws his hand out, gesturing to open space. He pulls on the power of one of his many pacts and summons Barbatos to the room. Barbatos stands and watches the scene he’s been called into. Though there is an impassive resignation in his eyes.

Solomon knows the seer of time must’ve seen this outcome.

“Rewind it and don’t let us do this!” Solomon pleads, leaning into the power of his pact to make it a command. Any other time Barbatos would obey, but the authority of Lord Diavolo outranks his pact with the sorcerer.

And he can feel Diavolo hold the leash of his powers. Powers that he can only use as his lord commands of him.

“I can’t,” Barbatos says and Solomon curses him. Looking back at her unmoving form on the bed, he doesn’t know what to do. 

“We can’t just leave her like this,” the sorcerer says. Never before has he felt so damn powerless.

“I’ll send word to the celestial realm,” Lord Diavolo says. “Perhaps they have a way to restore the shattered parts of her soul.” But even as the words leave his lips, he knows the truth. 

There isn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a terrible thought I had at 1 am last night. This terrible plot bunny kept me up till 3 am writing this out. Sometimes the bunnies demand angst, I hope it's somehow cathartic to those of you who like to suffer in fics from time to time. 
> 
> Comments and thoughts are always enjoyed! Take care of yourselves, stay safe and healthy out there.


End file.
